Warnings: Fluffffff

Word Count: 700 Words

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It had been a normal evening: the rain pattered down from the heaving clouds on a continual downpour; the residents of Watery Lane trudged through the moist gravel, getting home to their loved ones before sundown; and you had placed the dishes in the sink to soak, ready to remove their drying stains of beef and gravy.
However, when Tommy burst through the door - hair sopping, blood trickling down his cheek - your typical Friday night in Small Heath turned upside down.
At the crash of the door against the wall, picture frames dropping in succession to the floor, your heart pounded - beating at an inhumane rate against your chest - the bowl you were gently rinsing clattering into the murky water of the sink and as you spun on your heel, your fight or flight mode activated. You knew Tommy had gone to confront Kimber, he'd told you before he left. However you never expected him to come home beaten and bruised, already drying blood stains adorning his neatly pressed shirt. Your vision blurred together and your priority was no longer the gravy stains on your finest china, but the neat slices cut into the apple of Tommy's cheek.

-

What felt like a lifetime had passed since Tommy's burst entrance, and a dull ache still pulsed through your head from the clatter of picture frames on wood. And although the table was still laid for dinner - unwashed pots in the sink - now, you knelt in front of Tommy as he sat in the kitchen, dipping a damp rag into the bowl of diluted crimson water perched precariously on his lap. Bringing the cloth to his cheek, you pressed it to the slice splitting his cheekbone and he winced at the sudden chill against the warmth of his skin.
"Are you going to tell me how this happened or are we gonna sit here in silence?" After a moment you spoke gently, biting down on your lip, making sure you didn't offend the injured Shelby. Tommy's gaze had been trained at his feet since he sat down and the only words that left his lips were soft curses as you pressed the rag to his wounds.
This wasn't the first time Tommy had come home beaten to a pulp. But usually, he'd talk to you, tell you about the punches he missed, cursed through the story as his gaze danced across yours. However, tonight was different. He'd missed more than a few punches and suffered more than he wanted to let on.
After a moment, an expression of clear contemplation passing over his features, Tommy spoke up, speaking only two very soft words.
"I'm fine..." His stubbornness surfaced and, at his feeble reassurance, you slipped the rag into the water, taking the bowl from his knee and placing it on the table beside you. You cupped his cheek in your hand, circling your thumb against his cheekbone, fingers tangled through the unshaved scruff above his ear matted with drying blood.
"You're not the man you once were, Tommy- the young man who went to fight for our country..." At your statement, Tommy's eyes met yours for the first time since he blundered in, and you saw an air of remorse laced within their depths. "Please, talk to me..." You swallowed hard, wondering if you'd mis-stepped, said the wrong thing and made him curl up into an even tighter ball, cowering further away from you.
"I'm sorry..." Tommy's voice broke at his apology, filling the thickening silence hanging between you and a single tear spilled over the bank of his eye and rolled down his cheek; laying place in the neat wound beside his lip. "I'm sorry" He spoke again, this time more confident and determined as he leaned into your palm, closing his eyes for a moment, savouring your warmth against his rain soaked skin. Tommy gently tipped his head toward you, pressing his tear stained lips against yours, another waved crashing over his lash-line.
"I love you..." You whispered into his mouth, breath hot against each other as the two of you opened your eyes, tears now spilling from yours also, your gaze meeting once again.